The war banners in Korvath's command hall did not stir. The air was still, cold, the kind that seeped slowly into the bones. Maps covered the long table—marked ridges, frozen passes, border trails swallowed by snow. Kaito stood before the table, shoulders straight, gaze unblinking. He did not fidget. He did not question. He simply waited.
Iroko Ryusei did not dramatize the moment. He spoke in the same low tone he used to discuss supply requests and wall rotations.
"The northern border has gone quiet. Too quiet." His fingertip traced a pale line toward the Frostholm peaks. "The scouts' last reports ended two nights ago. The ward-lights of Frostholm are dimming. And the Kobold King is not foolish enough to remain where we saw him last."
The wind slipped through a crack in the old window frame, stirring the candles. Shadows flickered over the maps.
"We need someone who can move without being seen," Iroko continued. "Someone who understands silence. Someone who will not be rattled by the cold."
Kaito bowed his head once. A simple motion. A statement of acceptance.
"I will depart within the hour."
There was no surprise, no hesitation. It was the natural conclusion. The path was placed before him; he stepped onto it. That was all.
At the edge of the room, Anzuyi paused in her work. She had been assisting Kouki with reorganizing supply ledgers, ink still wet on her fingers. Her eyes lifted—first to Iroko, then to Kaito.
"I'll go too," she said.
The words did not carry force. They did not need force. They were simply true.
Kouki turned, weary in a way that came not from sleep deprivation, but from too many crises and too few hands. He exhaled slowly.
"There are guild duties here that require your oversight," he said. Not reprimand. Not command. Just fact. "Korvath cannot afford to lose another officer. Not now."
Anzuyi did not argue. She did not explain herself. She simply reached to her chest and slipped the guild badge from its clasp.
The badge—symbol of Korvath's trust, responsibility, and belonging—rested in her palm for the smallest moment. Then she placed it on the table beside the maps.
The sound was quiet.
But it echoed.
"Then," she said, voice steady, "I will stop being an officer."
The hall did not move. Not one person drew breath too quickly. The world simply narrowed—to the badge, to the snowlight through the window, to the way Kaito's gaze shifted from the tabletop to her face.
Iroko did not forbid her. He only nodded once, as if this too had already been decided by the shape of the road laid before them.
Kaito did not thank her. Did not reach for her. Did not speak.
They simply understood each other.
They left the hall together.
---
The northern road stretched out gray beneath a sky of unbroken cloud. Breath misted in pale streams as they walked. Behind them, Korvath's walls rose steady and scarred, stone patched with frost and scaffolding. The city was rebuilding—hammers, pulleys, carpenters' calls muted under distance. Life was returning, but not quickly, and not without cost.
Ahead lay snowfields, steep ridges, and the long silence of the north.
Kaito walked with quiet steps, no urgency, no hesitation. His motions were purposeful, efficient. He had always moved as though he belonged to whatever path lay before him.
Anzuyi adjusted the clasp of her cloak, making sure the fabric covered her hair from the wind. Her face was calm, composed—not hardened, but resolved. There was no fear in her expression. No forced bravery. Only presence.
They did not speak as they crossed the final rise. Words would have only diluted the moment.
The first flurries of snow began to fall—fine, almost delicate. Each step left clear prints in the white. Two trails. Parallel. Even. Unbroken.
The world around them quieted as the wind picked up, carrying the cold scent of pine and stone. The ridges loomed in the distance, grey shadows swallowed by cloud.
They did not look back.
Not once.
Because this was not escape. And it was not sacrifice.
It was simply the direction their lives had turned.
Two figures. Two quiet decisions. Two who walked north.
The snow thickened, soft and soundless.
Their footprints continued forward, steady, into the endless white.